The Gunslinger
by Titania Le Fey
Summary: Snake and a Bangkok Duel. Second chapter forthcoming


Plissken sat coolly at the table watching his adversary with a cold gaze. The man across from him didn't seem to be the street type. He probably needed money or was forced here, the penalty for double crossing a gang. Snake really didn't care why the man was sitting there now that he thought about it. He just wanted this over with so he could get his take and leave.

The man was cloaked in fear. Snake imagined maybe he could smell it through the smoke and booze that permeated the bar's back room. That terror coming through his eyes hypnotized Snake and he smiled grimly like a predator coming for the kill. He would have stared his opponent into submission but movement caught his eye as the bookie placed the glasses on the table.

Snake's concentration waned and the cacophony of the betters flooded back to his ears. To Plissken this was all a game with very serious consequences. Snake's eye moved over the crowd of money waving betters and back to the shot glasses on the table between him and the man who stank of fear.

One had been filled already with a thick congealed liquid that clung to the sides, blood. The second glass came. It was blood red but the lumps in it betrayed it's nature, ground innards of something. He looked to the other glass and it remained empty still. His eye narrowed at the empty glass then he looked up at his opponent who was wide-eyed at the blood filled glass.

The cheering got so loud Snake could no longer block it out no matter how intense his concentration. Plissken gazed up at the bookie waiting for the trick, the other glass, the one no one wanted to get caught drinking. The man was grinning with a toothy smile. That broken smile widened as his eyes turned down toward the table. Reflexively, Snake's own eye followed it down to see the two cobras.

"Snake for a Snake... eh?" The bookie asked no one particular.

Snake continued to study the bookie with intent impatience. Snake hated to wait. The bookie shoved the snake's mouth over the edge of the glass and Snake could see the venom sliding down the inside in pearly droplets.

Plissken took a quick look at his opponent. The man was sweating. Snake knew why. He was afraid of snakes, afraid of the venom and worst of all terrified of the revolvers that sat on the table before Snake. Plissken could clearly see the dread increase when his gaze lowered to the table top.

Snake wasn't interested in the trembling person across from him. When he looked back up in the dim light the bookie had a knife in hand. Calmly Snake let his hand come to rest on the table between the revolvers. He knew better then to trust the streets, especially the people who come to watch people die.

The man with the knife took hold of one of the serpents and slammed the knife into its head with a "thunk" as the blade sunk into the wooden table. Snake's jaw clenched so tightly from fury that he could hear his teeth grinding together. The second cobra joined the first pinned to the table. Blood dribbled down as their bodies flailed against the wood. Snake shot the bookie a glare more potent then the clear liquid he'd extracted from the dying snakes. His stare bore into the bookie as the ever deepening frown etched into his features. The bookie's normal grin faltered when he met Snake's burning eye.

Snake wanted nothing more then to pin the bastard down and spike his head to the table. There would be time later Snake assured himself. The bookie had to be crazy anyway. There could be no other explanation for a man killing a cobra, two in fact, before Snake, the dangerous, iron hard man with that animal emblazoned in black ink on his belly.

"Pick your poison."

It was a call for both men to grab the glass they would drink. Snake remained placid and contemplated his opponent. Plissken didn't care which glass he drank. He'd tasted more then his fair share of blood and the snake venom was like a shot of the rage he felt when he caught sight of the still twitching coils pinned to the table. It was pure hatred in a glass. Snake felt a kinship to that hate because it burned right down to the very core of his body.

Plissken's fingers started to drum uncontrollably on the table as he watched the beads of sweat form on the other man's forehead. His hand swayed between the glasses before he tentatively took the blood. A smile curled in the corner's of Snake's mouth as he confidently chose one of the other glasses. He raised it slightly in toast before slamming the venom back like a shot of vodka. He replaced the glass and cast his challenger an expectant glance. The other man swallowed hard contemplating the thick redness.

"Drink" The bookie demanded.

Reluctantly the blood disappeared into the man's gullet. Instantly he went pale and swayed in the chair. The frigid smile on Snake's lips broadened as he took his revolvers from the table. Plissken stood confidently feeling invigorated by the toxin coursing through his veins. A cheer went up as he holstered his revolvers and made his way through he crowd to the alley. It was time for someone to die.


End file.
